Relive
by BajaB
Summary: Albus Dumbledore's will gives Harry an incredibly powerful spell, one that should only be used in the direst of emergencies. What will the consequences be? Post HBP, oneshot. [No DH]


_A/N – Yet another odd little one-shot I have had sitting around on my drive doing nothing for a long time. Figured I might as well put it up, even though there is not much to it._

Harry lay in his dormitory and pondered what he would do next. The Hogwarts express was due to leave in an hour, and he still had not made any concrete plans about his future.

Dumbledore's funeral was fresh in his mind, and tended to blot out all other thoughts. Ron and Hermione were determined to come with him, to the Dursleys and wherever he decided to go after that, but he was not that sure he wanted them with him.

A knock at the door almost went unnoticed, but it swinging open interrupted Harry's thoughts. Professor McGonagall walked in without waiting for an invitation.

"Ah, there you are, Mr Potter," she said, spotting him on his bed. "All packed and ready to go I see."

"Yes," stumbled Harry, sitting up quickly. He could not recall Professor McGonagall ever coming into his room before.

"Well we have a few things we need to discuss before you leave. No," she said, seeing Harry about to protest, "not anything to do with your whereabouts or the headmaster's before, well before the incident. It is about the Headmaster's Will."

Harry was dumbfounded. "His Will?"

"Yes. We have just gone through it and he has left specific instructions in regards his belongings. He always had a very organised mind, and was prepared for the possibility of his, well, for his demise."

Minerva took a hanky from her pockets and wiped the tears that filled her eyes before continuing. Harry knew exactly how she felt as his own eyes began watering.

"Part of the Will includes something he has left for you."

"For me?" asked Harry. "Are you sure? Why would he leave anything for me?"

"Yes, Mr Potter, for you. If you wish to discover out what it is, you will have to come with me. We can always leave this for a later day if you are not yet feeling up to it; perhaps when you return next year?"

"No!" blurted Harry quickly. "I mean, I would prefer to get it now, please?"

"Very well then," the stern professor answered, a satisfied smirk turning the corners of her mouth slightly. "Come with me."

Harry quickly rose from his bed and followed the professor as she left the room. The few people in the common room looked on curiously as she led him out of the portrait.

In the Headmaster's office, nothing had changed. All of Dumbledore's belongings still sat where they had when Harry had last seen them. The portrait of the former headmaster was still snoozing in his chair.

Professor McGonagall sat in the chair opposite Harry going through an enormously long scroll; Albus Dumbledore's Last Will and Testament.

She had been going through it for a few minutes looking for the exact paragraph for Harry. Occasionally she mumbled bits of it to herself as she scanned the long document.

"Ah, here we go…"

To Harry Potter I leave the Pensieve memory in the bottle marked "HP".

Harry lost sight of her for a second as she suddenly bent down behind the desk. He had just raised himself up to try and see what she was doing, when she sat back up, startling him.

"Here we are," she said, holding out a small glass jar.

Inside swirled the silvery-white that Harry knew to be a memory, but he didn't know whose.

"I assume you would like to view this now, correct?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Harry nodded his head.

"Very well then," she said, walking to the cupboard that, just a few weeks ago, was the last place Harry and Dumbledore had used the Pensieve.

She opened the door and lifted out the familiar stone basin. Placing it on the desk in front of Harry, she returned to her chair and motioned for him to proceed.

Not sure of what to do, Harry opened the bottle and tried to empty it into the Pensieve.

The memory stuck to the inside of the jar and resisted his attempts to make it leave its container.

Looking at Professor McGonagall nervously, Harry tried shaking the jar vigorously, and finally used his wand to prise the sticky substance out. Once it was on his wand though, he found it hard to get it off.

"I often find scraping it along the side helps," offered Professor McGonagall, looking quite amused at his difficulty.

Harry scrapped and flicked until the memory lay inside the shallow bowl. It floated in typical neither-gas-nor-liquid manner, awaiting Harry's viewing.

"You do not have all day, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall rather sternly. Then her expression softened. "I will remain here and ensure nobody disturbs your viewing."

Harry nodded and turned back to the Pensieve. Taking a deep breath, he plunged his face into the ghostly substance.

As he felt his feet leave the office floor and he was once again falling through whirling darkness, he wondered why so many magical journeys seem to involved nausea inducing spinning. Then, quite suddenly, he was standing back in the Headmaster's office.

For a moment he wondered what had gone wrong, but when he turned around to ask Professor McGonagall, it was not her sitting in the chair.

It was Professor Dumbledore.

"Lemon Drop?" asked the familiar voice.

Harry nearly, but not quite, fainted.

Dumbledore smiled kindly and withdrew the dish he had been holding out before continuing to speak.

"My apologies," he said to Harry. "Please forgive an old man his little joke."

"Professor Dumbledore? But I saw…"

"Since you are here, Harry, it is obvious the worst has come to pass, and I have moved on to the next great adventure."

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"I have left you this memory in case your situation should become dire. The following spell I am about to teach you must only be used when you have no other option and all hope has been lost."

Realisation hit Harry like a physical blow; this was just the memory.

For a moment he thought his wish had come true, that somehow Professor Dumbledore was alive and his death was an elaborate ruse designed to gain an advantage over Voldemort, but now he saw other signs that that was not the case.

Dumbledore looked younger. Not much, maybe only a few years. There were only minimal physical changes, but the old man's his face no longer had the deep seated worry and concern that Harry had not noticed creeping into his expressions.

His blackened arm was once again a normal healthy pink too, something Harry should have noticed immediately, since Dumbledore had been using that hand to hold out the dish of sweets.

"I will not tell you the exact effects of this spell, for reasons I cannot go into now, but I wish to imbed the understanding that this spell will most likely be the most powerful magic you will ever perform, and it is not to be used lightly."

"There are fundamental forces in the universe, some you will have undoubtedly come across in the course of your schooling and, er, extracurricular activities. The magic of this spell delves deeply into one of those forces and is extremely perilous."

Harry couldn't help himself. He took a step to the left and almost laughed in relief when Dumbledore's image didn't notice but continued speaking. It was just a memory, playing like a video recording.

"Several centuries ago, there was a whole section of the Department of Mysteries dedicated to investigating this force. Eventually it was deemed too dangerous to pursue and almost all knowledge and artefacts that resulted from that Department's investigations and discoveries where destroyed or locked away for safety."

"The spell I am about to teach you is therefore considered illegal, and you must make sure to destroy this memory as soon as you believe that you will be able to cast it."

Dumbledore's face became grim and serious as he leaned forward on the desk and spoke to the empty air in front of him.

"For that purpose, this memory is embedded with a spell that has temporarily put you outside of the normal passages of time; another violation of laws, as you can well imagine. You will have four hours to master this spell. I will demonstrate and explain, and you will have to memorise and practice, but I warn you Harry, once this spell is cast, there is no calling it back; you must live with the results, and the repercussions, should others learn what you have done, will be unmanageable."

Harry felt himself swallow and felt a bit guilty for having moved out of the space Dumbledore was lecturing. He stepped back into the 'right' spot and focussed on what was being said.

A force so dangerous it had been abandoned and hidden inside the Department of Mysteries? Was Dumbledore talking about the locked door Harry and his friends had found last year? The venerable headmaster had told him the room behind that door contained love, and that love was what Harry needed to defeat Voldemort. Could he be about to teach Harry the spell he needed to destroy the worst evil the world had ever known?

Why would he keep that secret?

"I have no doubt that you have many questions, but we only have a very limited amount of time together, and I, of course, am unable to answer your questions directly anyway, so, on to business then, as they say," said Dumbledore standing up.

Four subjective hours later saw Harry tumble out of the Pensieve and fall on the floor of the office. Professor McGonagall was still seated at her desk and looked over at him with a slight frown on her face.

"That was a rather short message," she said. "Did everything proceed accordingly, or did you leave before viewing the whole memory?"

Harry shook his head to clear it. For the last four hours he had been practicing the same spell over and over again. Dumbledore's memory showed him every step in minute detail. Every flick of the wand, every syllable of the incantation, everything, was demonstrated and explained in an extraordinarily thorough and precise manner. He would have forgotten about the time difference if Dumbledore had not left him with a parting warning.

"_Do not forget to pretend this message only went for a bare minute, and be sure to destroy it as soon as possible. Goodbye, Harry, and good luck," Dumbledore said._

"No everything went fine," he answered Professor McGonagall, as he stood up. "He just wanted to leave me a goodbye message."

She looked critically at him, as if weighing his words. Harry tried to look innocent, but suspected the matronly Professor could see through him as easy as if she was using Legilimency. A few seconds of scrutiny was all it took for her to confirm this thought.

"Very well," she said. "I will not ask to view the memory as it is a very personal and private thing, but I would like to express that, should you require anything, anything at all, my office will always be open to you."

Harry nodded his thanks and was about to leave when a sudden impulse seized him.

"Professor," he said haltingly. "I need to destroy this memory."

The shocked look on Professor McGonagall's face nearly caused Harry to regret asking. His first instinct had been to take it away and find a way to destroy it himself, but her offer had caught him a bit by surprise, and he blurted out his request in response.

"Destroy it? Are you certain?"

He nodded again, but felt she deserved a bit more by way of an explanation.

"It's very private," he said, "and I don't want anybody else to see it, ever."

Professor McGonagall was usually somewhat unflappable and even though Harry's request had clearly caught her off guard, she recovered quickly and proceeded to instruct Harry on the spell he needed to empty the memory from the Pensieve, which he promptly cast before rushing off to join the other departing students.

-

Harry stood by the white tomb as the sun sunk below the horizon casting a blood red glow over everything. The castle grounds were silent; not even a bird chirped from the depths of the Forbidden Forest. The school was virtually empty for weeks now, since everybody returned to their homes, and even the professors had left for a short break.

Hagrid was out in the forest, visiting his half-giant brother, and Filch the caretaker usually retired to the insides of the castle early, so Harry knew he would not be disturbed.

He had come to cast the spell.

Virtually all of his time away from Hogwarts was spent investigating the mysterious spell. Books obtained by owl post, and carefully worded letters had all returned only one salient fact; the spell's incantation was based around a single word from the ancient-beyond-measure language that Latin was derived from – the language used to cast all spells taught at Hogwarts. The translation of the word? Re-live.

Harry guessed Dumbledore left him a most powerful spell, one that could destroy the world as it stood. If his guess was right, it would allow him to bring Dumbledore back from the dead – a terrifying thought – but at a cost.

Not wanting to else know about the spell meant Harry was forced to try and decipher the working of it alone. Many times he almost broken his own vow to keep it to himself, and asked Hermione for help, but in the end he knew telling her, or anybody, would have stopped him from casting it.

From what he could make out, the spell would take years from his life – a lot of years.

Harry didn't care; it was worth it.

Gathering his courage, he began the long and arduous ritual. With luck, he would be finished within a few minutes, one way or the other.

As the ritual came to a close, and Harry struggled to complete the spell, he felt his life-force beginning to be dragged from his body.

It was worse than a Dementor's kiss; a wrenching of his very soul.

He felt his limbs becoming bent and twisted, and his lungs bursting with the effort to suck in air. Driven to his knees and gasping, he held his wand out and spoke the last vowel of the spell.

There was a huge noise, like the universe was being ripped apart. Stars exploded inside his head, and pain overwhelmed him.

The very last thing he saw before the blackness took him was a nightmare of spinning coloured lights whirring all around him, while his body tumbled face-first onto the ground.

-

Harry woke with a start, and automatically reached for his glasses. They were in his hand and on their way to his face before his mind began to catch up.

The spell! What happened?

He lurched into a sitting position and pain once again exploded in his head, causing stars to fill his vision.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to focus on what his head struck, and several more before he could recognise what he was looking at.

It was the underside of a staircase.

Specifically, it was underside of a staircase he knew very well.

It was the underside of the staircase in number four, Privet drive.

He was back in the cupboard that had been his room and prison!

His mind spinning, Harry tried again to sit up and take stock. Suddenly he realised nothing felt right. His arms seemed too short, his body too light. Even his hands appeared soft and smooth, like a child's.

Realisation struck him another blow.

"Oh no!" he moaned in a voice that had not yet met puberty.

Something had gone wrong. The spell had not brought Dumbledore back to life at the cost of a few years of Harry's; it had sent Harry back to relive his life.

Hermione's warnings about changing the time line filtered through his mind briefly, but were quickly thrust aside as he came to understand exactly of what his predicament was. Bind panic seized his young heart.

"Dumbledore, I've got to get to Dumbledore!"

He pushed on the door and found it locked, as always. A quick search of his surroundings yielded nothing he could possibly use to pick the locks, so he resorted to the old stand-by; brute force.

Fuelled by panic, his nine year old legs stuck the door a mighty blow. The door sprung open with a loud crash as the locks, that had never been designed to hold the small cupboard shut against such force, tore from the frame.

Harry heard a yell from upstairs, but didn't wait for his monstrous uncle to come down to investigate.

He climbed out of the cupboard and ran out of the front door of the house, not bothering to close it behind him. His uncle's bellowing voice followed him out onto the road, screaming inarticulately in rage.

Where was he going to go?

The adrenaline still coursed through his body so he ran, but he paid no attention to his direction.

Without a wand he was powerless. He couldn't protect himself from his relatives, or call the Knight bus to take him to Hogwarts, Diagon alley, or even Grimmauld place - not that there would be anybody there to help him anyway.

Could he Apparate? His mind held the knowledge, but did his younger self have the magic ability? He doubted it.

He needed to find a wizard house. If he could find a Floo, he could call Dumbledore.

Panic subsiding, his mind finally caught up, and his pace slowed. He quickly turned and headed to the only nearby house he knew contained anybody from the wizarding world; Arabella Fig.

The elderly squib opened door as Harry relentlessly pounded its flaking surface while calling her as loud as his squeaky voice could. Harry noticed a few other residents poking their heads out of windows or doors to find the cause of the early morning disruption, but he didn't stop.

"Harry!" she said, obviously startled to see him. "What's going on?"

He pushed rudely passed her on his way to the fireplace.

"Mrs Figg, I have to contact Professor Dumbledore. Where is your Floo powder?"

"Dumbledore?" the old woman bumbled. "I don't know what you are talking about!"

Harry stomped his foot in what he knew was a childish action, but he was, after all, a child.

"I HAVEN'T GOT TIME FOR THIS. GIVE ME THE FLOO POWDER OR CALL DUMBLEDORE YOURSELF, BUT I NEED TO TALK TO HIM NOW!"

Mrs Figg stood there, shocked. Never in his life had Harry ever yelled at her, but he was desperate.

For a moment the panic returned. What if she didn't know what he was talking about? What if the spell had done something else; changed things from what they were meant to be?

He stood still panting.

"I don't know what this is about, Harry," said the babysitter, making Harry's pounding heart skip another beat, "but the Floo powder is in the jar in the wood box."

Harry wasted no time and ran to the box. He grabbed a handful of the ash and threw it into the cold fire. Emerald flames burst into life as he stuck his head in and shouted.

"Albus Dumbledore."

For several seconds nothing happened then the world twisted and he screwed his eyes shut as his head felt like it had started spinning. When the whirling stopped he opened them to find himself looking out into the empty office of the headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Albus Dumbledore!" he called again.

Suddenly a pair of legs wearing a bright green dressing gown stepped into view; it was Dumbledore.

"I am Albus Dumbledore. How may I help you young man?" asked the aged wizard, as he bent down to look into the fire.

Harry nearly cried with relief.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry almost screamed. "I have to come and see you, right now. It's a matter of life and death!"

The shocked look on Dumbledore's face appeared then disappeared so fast, that Harry wasn't sure if he had seen it there at all, or if it was just his imagination.

The Headmaster paused briefly, seemingly to considering Harry's words, and the boy felt his heart race even faster.

"Where are you, young Harry?" asked the Headmaster.

"I am at Mrs. Figg's house. It was the closest place with a Floo that I know of," he replied hurriedly.

"Indeed," replied Dumbledore, reaching up to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "Since it would appear to be a matter of urgency, perhaps you should step through and join me in my office."

Harry sobbed in relief as he nodded his head and leapt to his feet. He stepped into the flames and after a moment of disorientating spinning fell out into the waiting arms of Albus Dumbledore.

-

Albus Dumbledore, esteemed headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and holder of many other illustrious and important sounding titles, was rarely startled.

When you have lived a long time, and in his case that was so very long that he had lost count of the years, you tend to become numb to the everyday, used to the extraordinary, and positively bored by the shocking, so to startle him was a rare enough occurrence to warrant a mention in the massively thick tome he was currently using as a diary and planner.

Unfortunately updating his journal and revising his plans was going to have to wait, since a nine year old Harry Potter had just tumbled out of the fireplace in the office and into his arms.

This was not the event that had startled him though. Immediately prior to young Mr Potter's unorthodox Floo exit, the excitable lad had called to urgently request a visit.

Since Albus had taken a great deal of trouble to hide the magical world from James and Lilly's only offspring, getting a Floo call from somebody he knew to be completely ignorant was only slightly less startling than the day Fawkes had informed him of a change in gender after the previous burning day.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry had screamed. "I have to come and see you, right now. It's a matter of life and death!"

Albus had of course agreed, since it was not often something unexpected came along, and was now faced with a soot covered young boy who threw himself into Albus's arms and hugged him in a manner never before encountered in the ancient wizard's lifetime, especially since, to the best of his recollection, the boy had never met him since they day he entered the household of Petunia Dursley.

"There, there," he soothed, patting the child's back comfortingly. "I have a feeling you have quite a tale to tell me, so why don't you take a seat, Mr. Potter, and tell me what this is all about."

Sniffing, the child reluctantly released the aged man and wiped his eyes and nose with a grubby handkerchief.

"I am sorry, sir. It's just so good to see you again," Harry said, once he had regained a bit of composure.

"Again?" asked Albus.

"Yes. This is going to sound a bit crazy, but you see, I am from the future."

For the second time in the same day, Dumbledore was startled – a feat unparalleled in decades.

"The future?"

"Yes. After you died, you left me a Pensieve and a memory of a spell to use if things were 'irrevocably doomed'. That was your words. Anyway, I cast the spell and next thing I know, I woke up back in the cupboard at Privet Drive," explained the boy.

"My death?" Albus shook his head to clear the confusing images that Harry's words were evoking. "I think you had better start at the beginning, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and took a few seconds to get his thoughts into order before launching into a tale worthy of his audience. Albus refrained from asking too many questions, but did interrupt to offer a drink to sooth the boy's throat when it became parched, and some food as the long day progressed and the tale unwound.

Life at Privet Drive, the hiding of the Philosopher's Stone, the Chamber of Secrets, Sirius Black, the Triwizard Tournament, the return of Voldemort and finally, Snape's betrayal, were all told in varying degrees of detail and coherence.

At the end of the tale, Harry slumped in his chair, exhausted by his hours-long rendition of, what was to him, history.

Albus also felt exhausted, but elated. The child, no, that was not right, the young man before him had lived an astounding life.

"Harry," he said. "I have to say that I feel inordinately proud of you. You have shown wisdom beyond your years, your true years that is, by immediately coming to me with this, but I have to ask. Why did you cast the Relive spell so soon after my death?"

Harry stared at Albus as if he had grown another head.

"You're kidding right?" he asked.

Albus shook his head.

"No, I am not. From your own words you knew that in the end you were going to have to face Voldemort on your own. You still had your health and friends, the Ministry was functioning and working against him, the Order of the Phoenix was there to support you, and two of the Horcruxes had been destroyed. Surely the situation did not seem so desperate that you thought it advisable to take the extraordinary risk of casting a spell I specifically told you was to be used only in the direst of circumstances? I am sure you realise how dangerous attempting to divert fate by changing timelines can be."

Harry's look, at first disbelieving, became down turned and, to the experienced man's keen eye, ashamed.

"I didn't think it would send me back," he admitted quietly. "I thought it was going to bring you back."

Albus considered this new information.

"Ah," he said, after a moment's quiet thought. "I can certainly see now that my wording about the exact nature of the spell may have been misinterpreted, so I will reluctantly accept a large portion of the responsibility."

Harry looked so relieved at Albus's words that the old man briefly wondered just how well Harry was coping with his old/new body.

"Why did you leave me that spell, sir? If it is so dangerous, and I can believe that, why did you put it in bottle and leave it to me in your will?"

"Alas, Harry, I only just yesterday completed that task, though it has been on my list for several years now. Of course I was merely taking a precaution, rightly so it appears, against the possibility that this time I may not get the opportunity myself."

Harry's expression reflected the confusion and turmoil inside his mind as he processed Dumbledore's words. Albus patiently waited for the meaning to reveal itself to the slightly traumatised boy. When it did, a range of emotions flashed across his face in rapid succession, finally settling on rage, as expected.

"That's how you always seem to know what's going on! You have used this spell, haven't you?" Harry accused.

"Many, many times," replied Albus, nodding in agreement.

"So why haven't you made things right?" yelled Harry, getting to his feet. "You could-"

Dumbledore raised a hand to cut Harry's ranting off, and then leaned back in his chair wearily; Harry's long tale had worn not just the young boy out.

"Please sit and I will try to explain, although my story is not as thrilling as your own," he said. "The spell itself is not precise, and rarely have I returned at a time of my choosing."

"On more than one occasion I have returned as an infant so young that I have been unable to care for myself, a most embarrassing situation, as you can probably appreciate."

Harry's mind hadn't quite caught up yet; the shock of his own returning kept him from analysing Dumbledore's statement, but several thoughts refused to leave his thoughts.

"Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you change things? You could have saved them, my parents, Sirius, you know he is innocent!"

"Ah, Harry, I have tried. Many times I have returned and altered the sequence of events, and the result has become somewhat more satisfactory, but time and time again I have failed and have been forced to cast the spell to return and try once more."

"Failed? What do you mean failed?" asked the young Harry.

Dumbledore looked up sadly. He knew the young man wasn't going to like this.

"In not a single one of the uncountable time lines I have lived through, have you defeated Tom Riddle," he said.

Albus saw Harry feel his world come crashing down as he slumped back into his seat.

"Oh," said the young boy, somewhat lamely.

"Indeed. With your first death, I was forced to develop and use the spell that brought you here today."

"First death?"

"Yes, Harry. I do not play with fate at a whim. Your loss is always the final straw. As you know, without you there is no hope, and Voldemort would achieve his desire and rule the world for eternity."

Harry felt dizzy.

"This is however, the first time that you have returned, myself having being disposed of, and, judging from what you have told me, we seem to have progressed further down the long path to victory in your timeline than in most of my previous attempts."

"Each time I have come back I have tried to correct the mistakes I made, however certain situations repeated themselves time and time again. If your parents do not die on Halloween 1981, you will all be murdered before you reach your third birthday, despite my every attempt to protect you. Should you live anywhere except with the Dursleys, Voldemort's followers will find and destroy any hope the wizarding world has before you even set foot in this school."

"I even tried raising you myself, but still I was unable to keep you alive beyond your sixth birthday."

"You raised me?" asked a clearly shocked Harry.

"Several times, and I must say," Dumbledore chuckled, "you are quite a handful."

He saw Harry unable to avoid a smile, despite the incredible burden that seemed to be falling onto his shoulders.

"Sirius?" the boy asked, obviously fearing the answer.

The smile fell from Dumbledore's face and he shook his head.

"Only a dozen times has he survived beyond a few years after your parent's death, and each time it was by remaining in Azkaban until after you had started in Hogwarts."

"Cedric?"

Again Dumbledore was forced to shake his head.

"I can count the number of times you survived the Triwizard tournament on Fawkes's not so numerous toes, but the deaths of the other competitors never number less than one, either during the tournament, or in whichever lair Voldemort chooses to perform the ritual in."

"So you just leave them die?" Harry asked, his anger visibly rising to combat the despair he felt, in some sort of defensive mechanism, guessed Albus.

"No, Harry, despite knowing that I will fail, always I attempt to avoid their demise," answered the old mage. "But all I have learned to do is minimise the tragedy."

"But, if I know what is likely to happen, I can try and stop it," Harry said.

"Consider the consequences," Dumbledore answered. "Knowing that you must fail, despite your best efforts, you may find it harder to bear the knowledge of your failure than if you were unaware. Worse, you may be tempted to use the Relive spell again, and spend an eternity trying to avoid every death; fix every error. It is, regrettably, an impossible task."

"But you keep trying," Harry challenged.

"And I suffer for it, Harry. Fleeting are the nights when I may gain a peaceful slumber. Even after hundreds of years, I still feel the pain of my failures. Only the cause I have dedicated myself to sustains me, and it appears in your lifetime the burden became too much even for me. It is a curse. Would you willingly inflict it upon yourself?"

Harry sat quietly and Albus was sure he has not able to think too clearly.

"But we can try again, together," the boy rallied. "You said this is the first time I have ever come back, and that we had gotten further than before. Maybe with my help you will be able to do it better this time."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. As he looked down at the almost broken figure of the child that he knew, through horrific personal experience, was the only hope for the world to survive, doubt assaulted him. It had been centuries of his repeating years since he had known such uncertainty.

It was true that Harry had never returned, and the temptation of having somebody else to confide in was great, but so were the risks. He knew Harry would likely not be able to stay his hand. If he was faced with the choice of saving his godfather or revealing Voldemort to the Ministry, Albus was certain Harry would try and save Sirius despite the consequences this would have.

The changes Harry's presence would make could set Albus's plan back centuries, and his current methods and actions were working, as witnessed by Harry himself in the future he had returned from. Never before had he progressed so far into the sixth year. In every lifetime Albus had lived, Harry had been killed or irrevocably lost before then.

Small changes, made at precisely the right time, had altered the future from the barren, wasted and desolate one Dumbledore had first lived through, to a much kinder, better one, where the forces of evil did not have unlimited power and control.

Hidden away in an underground sanctuary, a battered and broken Dumbledore had conceived and created the Relive spell, as the very last hope of the side of light, and had vowed to make the most of it. He had lived almost a hundred years in that sanctuary, taught himself time magic from the dusty tomes entombed there with him, and eventually succeeded, returning to his own youth where he used his knowledge of things to come to bypass the worst of his life's events.

His journey had begun, and he made many mistakes. Time and time again he was forced to return and retrace his steps with the only the slightest of changes each time, manipulating fate to try and bring about a better conclusion.

Timelines fractured when he cast that most potent spell. Each return broke a new path starting from the moment he awoke, but each included any changes made by his last return to an earlier time.

The lessons he learned were harsh ones; not all things could be avoided.

It was not a lesson he could allow the extraordinary young man seated in front of him to learn, not if he could avoid it, and having Harry returning as well may just ruin the delicate web of changes beyond recovery. To have a second person making changes at the same time could cause more confusion and problems than he could handle.

"I am truly sorry, Harry," said Dumbledore, rasing his wand from the desk where it had been lying.

There was a solution. Not the best, but acceptable, in the circumstances.

"Obliviate!" 

-

In a small house some distance away from the grand castle, a young blonde haired girl suddenly sat upright in her bed, as if startled awake by a nightmare.

"Bugger," said Luna Lovegood. "I was looking forward to having somebody to talk to this time."

**Finite Incantatem.**


End file.
